


Royals

by fell_in_love_didnt_you



Series: Royals [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms, Snowbaz - Fandom, baz pitch - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Royal Wedding au, Wedding, marraige
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fell_in_love_didnt_you/pseuds/fell_in_love_didnt_you
Summary: Simon knew it was going to be difficult with Baz.Baz Pitch wasn’t exactly the most eloquent when he told Simon about his…situation. Oldest child in the most respected family in pretty much all of western Europe, and he’d just conveniently forgot to mention that within the first two months. They’d been to secluded, expensive restaurants that Simon could’ve only hoped for when he was a kid. The most expensive meal he’d ever had before meeting Baz was an eight dollar basket of chicken tenders he’d had courtesy of his estranged father.





	1. Simon Snow is Not Royalty

Simon knew it was going to be difficult with Baz. 

Baz Pitch wasn’t exactly the most eloquent when he told Simon about his…situation. Oldest child in the most respected family in pretty much all of western Europe, and he’d just conveniently forgot to mention that within the first two months. They’d been to secluded, expensive restaurants that Simon could’ve only hoped for when he was a kid. The most expensive meal he’d ever had before meeting Baz was an eight dollar basket of chicken tenders he’d had courtesy of his estranged father. 

But Baz…Baz had bought him nearly one hundred dollars of just wine…in one night. Simon had gone wide-eyed when he’d seen the bill, feeling his heart race as Baz moved his hand to grab the check. But Baz had smiled when he saw Simon’s crazy-eyes, laughing at him slightly. 

“I’ve got it covered,” he mumbled in a tone of voice that Simon was embarrassed to say was sexy. He’d blushed a bit, trying to refuse and knowing full-well he’d never be able to cover his half, but Baz smiled again. He covered Simon’s freckled hand with his own darker one. Simon felt himself smile just a tiny bit. “Really, I’ve got it covered, Snow.”

So two fucking months later, when Simon told Baz that he wanted to put this on lock, Baz looked like he’d been shot. Simon had backed up then, but Baz just smiled and pulled him down on Simon’s shitty couch that had various stains from various takeout places. And then he’d said it. Simon thought it was honestly a joke. Baz? His boyfriend (hopefully) Baz? A royal? 

He’d laughed. He’d laughed right in Baz’s face, turning red. It was absurd. Totally. Completely. The royal family’s son wasn’t named Baz. He was named something weird like Tyranny or Tyrannosaurus. The prince lived in seclusion and hadn’t really been out in public since years ago. Simon had remembered the day the prince had been sent to a prestigious boarding school for privileged kids. Simon remembered wanting that so much. 

Baz hadn’t laughed back. He just kinda sat there until Simon had calmed down. Then he’d pulled out a tiny photo from his wallet, showing an image of him and the actual fucking queen. And there were even more photos on his phone, showing him with the entire royal family in different stings, different clothes, and different times of day. Some were from other countries. Nearly everyone Simon had idolized since he’d been a child was there. 

“So all the fancy dinners…?” Simon began to ask, not really knowing where the question was going. Baz nodded. “And all the private restaurants…?” Baz nodded again. 

And that was really just the beginning of it. He’d been dating a royal for two months and not known it. How the hell could he be so oblivious? Baz’s name wasn’t Baz. It was Tyrannus Basilton. The nickname had come from his middle name. The resemblance of older Baz to ten-year-old Baz was undeniable. Simon should’ve seen it earlier. The only reason he didn’t was because Baz had actively stayed out of the press so much. 

This had brought so many speedbumps into the relationship. Simon was a commoner. He came from literally nothing. He was born out of wedlock, given up immediately after birth, adopted back by his father, and then basically dumped out with nothing once again. He wasn’t royalty. He didn’t have a dollar to his name. And Baz…Baz went to prestigious boarding schools, could have everything he wanted at the snap of a finger, and could have literally anyone he wanted. And he chose Simon. 

….

Simon tightened his grip on Baz’s warm hands, the morning light filtering through the flat they share. The bed sheets are wrapped around their legs, a little cold but still offering enough warmth for comfort. The morning haze in his mind cleared in a few moments, and he felt that Baz was breathing normally, and even a little quickly, against the nape of his neck. Simon smiled, gripping Baz’s fingers and slowly turning over, curling up against the toned chest he had grown so accustomed to. 

“Good morning,” Baz drawled in a low, gravelly voice. 

“Morning,” Simon hummed back, lazily pressing his lips against Baz’s. He felt Baz cringe a little, and Simon laughed. “Is it the morning breath or the scruff this time?” 

Baz took a moment to reply, mocking a thinking face and eventually saying, “Both, I think.” He laughed as Simon pressed his cold hands against his face, turning away from the bed and walking towards the bathroom. The cold draft of the flat hit Simon as he closed the bathroom door. The tile stuck to his warm feet, and he turned the nozzle of the shower, feeling the warm spray under his hand before he got in. 

The bathroom was quite nice; Baz had asked Simon to move into a place together, and they’d decided (against Simon’s better judgement) on a more expensive two-story flat closer to Buckingham than either of their previous places. It was so much more high-end than anything Simon had ever stepped in. He was still enamored by the multiple showerheads in the shower and changing lights that Baz had installed, all based on an app on their phones. 

Seriously, how had Simon come into this? 

The bathtub was more akin to a jacuzzi, the lighting was that of a Kim Kardashian photoshoot, and that was only the bathroom! As Simon scrubbed his hair with his favorite soap that one-fourth of the price of Baz’s, had stared at the photo of them on the bathroom counter. Photos of him and Baz were littered around the flat. Baz was the one that usually printed them; Simon wasn’t really sure why Baz loved printing photos and framing them and putting them everywhere, but he loved it. He loved being reminded that Baz loved him enough to put photos of them everywhere. Perhaps it was a little vain, but Simon didn’t care. 

Simon stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He had to get to work soon. Penelope would chastise him for being late to her bookstore again, but running a shop with your best friend had setbacks and privileges. Being able to show up a few minutes late was definitely a privilege. 

He walked out into the room and saw Baz still lounging in the bed, glasses a bit askew on his face and sheets wrapped up to his waist. If Simon didn’t have to go back to work, he’d climb back in bed and stay the night with Baz, but that’s just not how Simon wanted to be. He always needed to have something to do: work, school, or recreational. He logically knew that Baz’s money could keep both of them out of work for years to come, but Simon didn’t want that. He wanted to be as normal as possible. 

“I had an idea the other day,” Baz said, yawning in the middle and stretching his arms above his head. Simon’s throat ran dry, and he turned back to the massive closet. Most of the clothing in here was Baz’s; he had many more social clothes than Simon did. Being a prince came with many duties, and Simon understood that. 

“What kind of idea?” Simon asked, beginning to pat his hair dry as he flipped through a few options for work. “The kind of idea that’s good, or the kind that will end up with you in the news for a scandal?” Simon turned for dramatic effect and fanned his face in faux shock. 

Baz laughed and tried to throw a square decorative pillow at him, but Simon caught it and returned a much better hit aimed right at Baz’s face. Baz’ laughter died down, and Simon leaned against the frame of the closet door. 

“The kind that could go either way,” Baz finally answered, twisting the sheets in between his fingertips. Simon nodded, a small but nervous smile still on his lips. He waited for Baz to say whatever it was he was thinking about. “I was wondering if you’d join the Church of England?”

Simon’s mouth involuntarily opened slightly, and he cast his eyes down to the floor. The Church of England? He bit at his lips before responding. “I-um-I thought that was only for people like you.” 

Baz rolled his eyes and said, “You are people like me. Why else would I ask?” Simon shrugged and turned back to the closet, pulling out his worn baseball tee and a pair of light wash jeans. He put everything on and jumped a little when he felt Baz’s arms wrap around his middle. 

“Give it a few days,” Baz whispered into his ear, his open lips warming the shell of his ear. “If it’s a no, then it’s a no. You don’t have to say yes.” 

Simon sighed and turned into Baz’s embrace, hugging his bare back and breathing into the nape of Baz’s neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in Baz’s morning scent: bergamot, sleep, and a bit of his own musk. It was comforting. It was home to Simon. He fell asleep and woke up to this. It was uniquely Baz. 

“It’s definitely not a no,” Simon replied, pulling back from the hug and moving to sit at the small desk by the high windows of the room. The plain white curtains that hung to the floor covered the bedroom from the outside world. Here, it was just Simon and Baz. As he tugged on his old Chuck Taylor’s that had been so worn that some parts were completely falling apart (like the sole), he looked up at where Baz was now searching through the closet for days clothes. “I just thought that people princes dated didn’t really join the Church of England until…you know.” 

Baz stopped his rummaging and clung onto a dark blue shirt, sighing. “Si,” he breathed out, looking over at the desk, “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t in this for the long run.” Simon blushed at that, immediately ducking his head so Baz didn’t see. The long run. Simon had known since practically the first date that he wanted this to last as long as it could. He himself was definitely in it for the long run, so hearing Baz say it…his heart did a little spin, jump, and crash in his chest. 

“I’m in it for the long run, too,” he mumbled, as he took his car keys from the desk and walked to where Baz stood, smiling up at his boyfriend. He pressed a long but light kiss to Baz’s lips and stepped back. “We’ll talk about the messy details when I get home,” he added, stepping to where the door to the bedroom was. “We’ll figure it out.” 

Baz sighed with a dopey grin and said, “You know my mum and dad have to approve you and this, right?” Simon swallowed thickly and nodded, turning the knob on the door. “Okay,” Baz added. “Have a great day at work. Tell Bunce I said hi.”

“I will,” Simon said, smiling as he walked out of the bedroom. He stepped down the modern white stairs of the flat to the base floor and walked past the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar and opening the front door. 

…

“You’re fucking kidding me!” Penny yelled, slapping Simon’s shoulder with a shocked expression on her face. Simon nodded, a bright smile still on his face. “The fucking Church of England! You know what that means, right?”

The shop was empty because the morning rush was over and they were waiting for the middle of the day. That was the second busiest time of the day; the evening was worse. After a week, they usually ran out of roses, daisies, and tulips. That’s how successful Penny’s marketing was. She was fucking brilliant, and Simon knew it. In retrospect, Simon knew she was smarter and wiser now than he’d ever be, but it didn’t other him. He loved Penny so much. She’d gotten him out of so many stupid situations before. 

Baz also loved her, too. Sometimes Simon would just sit back and watch the friendly debates they got in. It was nice to see that Penny and Baz got along well with each other. Simon doesn’t know what he would have done if they hated each other. He didn’t want to give either of them up, and living in that type of animosity would kill him. 

“I honestly think he just wants me to meet his parents,” Simon mumbled, cutting the ends of some chrysanthemums and placing them in the vase on the counter. “He’s talked about it more often now, and we have been together for a few years.” 

Penny sighed and said, “I met Micah’s parents after a few months. How have you survived this long with the fucking prince?” 

“If you say fuck one more time, you won’t meet them either,” Simon laughed. He leaned back against the counter and looked at Penny, who was busying herself with a wreath adorned with multicolored flowers of all shapes and sizes. She turned, a tired but lowing expression on her face. 

“So you don’t want to meet his parents?” Penny asked sincerely, walking over across Simon and leaning against the wall. 

Simon shook his head, swept a shaking hand through his hear, and replied, “It’s not that. I just…I’m a commoner. I come from nothing. Like, quite literally nothing. The second Baz and I go public, the media is going to be a battlefield for who can dig up the most tarnished part of my past. Even I don’t know what it is.” 

Penny nodded and remained silent for a minute, picking at her chipped nails. She then said, “What if Baz proposes?” The question hung heavy in the air, and after a few beats, Penny stammered, “You wouldn’t say yes?”

Simon huffed out and said, “Of course I’d say yes, Penn. There’s just so much that comes with being together. I’d never have a private life after that. I’d never be able to just walk out of the flat and come to work with you. On the brighter side, we’d have even more business.” 

“Unless you fucked up,” Penny cut in, an evil smirk on her face. Simon laughed and nodded. 

“Yeah, unless I fucked up,” he conceded. “Then we’d probably have to close shop altogether.”

Penny sighed, a small laugh still coming out between her lips. “You’re way in over your head, Salisbury,” she mumbled, beginning to walk to the front where a customer had just entered. Salisbury, Simon thought to himself. Just another part of himself he’d given up for Baz. Another part he’d have to give up. 

…

The dinner the night of Simon’s official acceptance into the Church of England was too fancy for him. 

There were too many spoons and forks to count. Every time Simon picked up the wrong one, Baz would politely point out the right one, which was always one over. Simon felt like he was at a fucking cotillion class. It wasn’t that he was frustrated or mad at Baz; he just needed to get this down now before he met Baz’s parents. 

Baz’s parents…Jesus Christ of Nazareth, Simon thought. 

The low lighting and candles settled around their private booth made Simon calmer. He wasn’t embarrassed to do something stupid in front of Baz; this was their norm. Simon was the one that didn’t know left foot from right foot, but Baz could point them out in the dark, blind, and deaf. The dynamic was comforting. 

They held hands across the table. Simon’s right in Baz’s left. Close, but not suffocated. The dinner was gone. There was just fancy glasses of too-expensive champagne and a finished plate of chocolate cake they’d shared. Simon was stuffed to the brim. He would explode if someone even touched his stomach. The silence was comforting. Baz was sitting there, gazing at Simon with a smile. Simon loved that smile. It was reserved for him and only him. That was the smile Baz had shared on with him on their first date. 

“Simon,” Baz drawled, his voice only a whisper. Simon hummed in response, running his thumb over Baz’s hand., but Baz just chuckled to himself. It made Simon laugh, too. He was wearing a dopey grin afterwards. These were the nights he cherished the most. There was no pressure to be perfect. No one was staring at them and making snide comments under their breath. This was just them. 

Simon lifted his head to the ceiling and closed his eyes, letting out a breath from his mouth and relaxing his shoulders. Baz’s hand left his, and Simon nearly clenched on open air. The feelings of Baz’s fingers were still on his, and Simon opened his eyes and looked back down to see where Baz had gone. 

His breathing stopped when he looked to the end of the table where Baz was knelt, a tiny blue velvet box in his hand. His suit jacket was a little uneven on his shoulders, and Simon felt himself involuntarily move his hand to even it out. It stopped midair, where Baz slowly encompassed it in his own. 

“I forgot what I was going to say,” Baz whispered, his voice stuck a little in his throat. Simon choked out a laugh. “But the gist was,” Baz continued, “that I love you, and I’ll do anything for you.” He opened the tiny box, and Simon nearly had a heart attack. 

It looked older, the gold on the edges more bronze than polished. A single diamond lay at the top, little lines curved near it. It was so fucking simple, but it was like Baz just knew. He always just knew. Simon drew his eyebrows together in a halfhearted way to try and stop the tears he felt were coming. 

“So, um…” Simon could tell the words were caught again, and he quickly took Baz’s cheeks in his hand, moving down and placing a hard kiss on his lips. 

“Yes,” Simon whispered, face only centimeters apart from Baz’s. He could see that Baz had cried, too. “A thousand times yes.”


	2. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite honestly, the worst part about the whole engagement thing was meeting Baz’s parents. 
> 
> Simon had been suspicious as to why Baz had proposed before Simon had actually met him mum, dad, and grandmother (the current queen). He knew that he’d have to really fancy himself up before going to Buckingham Palace to meet them all. Jesus, Simon thought. He wouldn’t even get a pass at meeting some of them alone. He’d have to entertain the whole lot altogether.

Quite honestly, the worst part about the whole engagement thing was meeting Baz’s parents. 

Simon had been suspicious as to why Baz had proposed before Simon had actually met him mum, dad, and grandmother (the current queen). He knew that he’d have to really fancy himself up before going to Buckingham Palace to meet them all. Jesus, Simon thought. He wouldn’t even get a pass at meeting some of them alone. He’d have to entertain the whole lot altogether. 

Simon knew Baz felt the tension in his body the days leading up to the actual meeting of his family. Simon always drew back when he was tense; he spoke less, ate less, and didn’t have as much libido. That part always made Simon mad. No matter how much he tried, he could hardly get it up when he was stressed. Sex with Baz was always really good, so the fact that Simon’s stupid fear about meeting Baz’s parents was getting in the way of that made Simon so frustrated. 

“You’re tense,” Baz commented one night, running a hand across Simon’s back. Simon was face down in the bed, his body tired and mind even more so. Baz was laying beside him on his side, a book abandoned on the beside table and his glasses slipping down his nose. Simon turned to look at him, and he gently pressed Baz’s glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. Baz smiled softly and asked, “Why are you so nervous?” 

Simon shrugged, closing his eyes and sighing. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I just don’t think I’m what your family is looking for in a partner,” he confessed. 

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Baz insisted, slipping down into a laying position next to Simon and nuzzling his nose into Simon’s shoulder. 

“Of course it matters,” Simon replied. “You’re the next heir, Basilton,” he added with an exaggerated drawl. “You’re supposed to make children and marry a beautiful duchess or something.” Simon felt Baz’s leg sling over his own, and Baz’s weight settled against half of his body. Soft kisses were pressed on the protruding parts of his spine, and Baz’s hands began to massage the area around it. 

“Shut up,” Baz whispered, still leaving the lingering kisses but moving away from his spine and to Simon’s neck. Baz’s hands made a few cracks come out of Simon’s spine, and he groaned at the relief. “See? You’re too damned stressed,” Baz said.

Simon shook his head into the pillow. He knew he was stressed. He knew he didn’t want to meet Baz’s parents the next day. It was already stressful dating a prince, but being engaged to one and then having to meet a royal family was a fucking mountain of anxiety, as Penny had so lovingly put it. 

“What if they don’t like me?” Simon mumbled into the pillow. There was a bit of silence as Baz continued to undo the knots in Simon’s back, and Simon pulled his face out of the pillow to look over. “What if they hate me?” 

Baz smiled softly, almost seemingly to himself, and replied, “They can’t hate you, Si. You’re too sunny for your own damned good.” Baz leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Simon’s lips, pulling away only seconds later to lay down beside him. They were close enough that Simon could feel the tip of Baz’s nose brushing his own, and he closed that tiny distance once again to just feel Baz. It was all too comforting having him there. Baz was like an anchor to Simon’s unruly ship. 

Simon fell asleep some time later to Baz’s rhythmic breathing and warm arms surrounding him. Simon could live within those arms for years, comforted by the warm circle of Baz’s (albeit a bit muscular) arms. 

…

Simon woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth and a lack of warmth. The sheets were up to his chest, pillows spread around the bed, and he could hear the shower running. Simon clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and cringed. He sat up, his head spinning with the daze of sleep and maybe one too many glasses of champagne. Baz had wanted him to loosen up, and Simon felt he loosened up a bit too much. 

He slowly flung his legs over the side of the bed, walking into the bathroom and beginning to brush his teeth. Baz walked out of the grand shower then, toweling his hair dry and wrapping a spare around his waist. He walked behind Simon, hugging him as Simon’s weakly protested. 

“You need a shower anyway,” Baz mumbled into Simon’s neck, his eyes tracking Simon’s in the mirror. Simon huffed and spat into the sink, washing his mouth out and looking back up at Baz. “You do!” Baz insisted, laughing as Simon rolled his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, Baz added, “We’re leaving at eleven.” 

Simon jumped and turned around, yelling, “It’s already nine-thirty! Why didn’t you wake me up?” He pushed past Baz and immediately turned the shower tap on, testing the water on his hand before stepping in almost immediately. Simon could hear Baz laughing outside of the shower, and he spit water out and yelled, “I’m a mess!” 

Baz practically howled at that, and Simon smiled as he heard the bathroom door and then almost close. That was one of the things that slightly annoyed him (in an endearing way) about Baz. Even when they were fighting, Baz always closed doors only slightly. It was almost like he was leaving a space for Simon to be, and that made the blond boy blush even in the lukewarm water running over his head. 

The shower was over too soon. If he was being honest, Simon would’ve liked to stay in that shower all day instead of go to meet the royals, AKA Baz’s parents, AKA the people Simon had watched since literal birth. All eyes were always on them, so in turn, all eyes would soon be on him. Of course, he and Baz couldn’t go to one of their private residences because then it would draw far too much attention there. They had to go right for the ugly: fucking Buckingham. 

Simon went through and then re-went through his entire wardrobe about five times before Baz stepped in. 

“It’s not like something will magically appear there, Snow,” he chuckled, taking Simon’s red-raw hands away from the hangers. 

“What the hell are you even supposed to wear to something like this?” Simon demanded. Baz looked so effortlessly casual: black hair swept back with miniscule amounts of product, a nice white t-shirt tucked into black slacks, and polished shoes. Simon would be a mess in something like that. 

Baz turned to the racks with a concentrated expression (that Simon could mistake for constipated) and pulled a pale blue shirt Simon almost never wore out from the back. He then noticed the large stain on the front and put it back. “Okay,” Baz mumbled, “maybe this’ll be a bit more difficult than I thought.” He pondered something for a moment before adding, “Care to borrow some on my own clothes?”

Simon didn’t really have time to protest the idea; Baz was already pulling expensive button-ups, slacks, shirts, and even fucking ascots from his side of the closet. Really, though, he had so many more clothes tan Simon that Baz’s side often extended into his own. Simon didn’t mind it usually, but in situations like this…

“What about this?” Baz asked, and he turned around with a nearly identical outfit, except the shirt was grayer and the pants weren’t nearly as nice. Simon guessed the reason behind that was so that if he spilled anything at lunch (and he was bound to), it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Simon shrugged and threw on the clothes, checking his watch afterwards. It was ten-fifteen. He needed something to do. Otherwise, he’d stress and eventually psyche himself out of going. However, he knew he really couldn’t just throw his hands up and say no. Baz had looked forward to this for so long. He’d planned the date nearly three weeks ago so that it would align with everyone’s schedules. 

As Simon sat back down on the unmade bed, Baz sat beside him. Simon looked over and said, “You know, you never really told me why or even how you’re next in line for this shit.” 

Baz flashed his crooked smile over at Simon and replied, “It’s ‘cuz you never asked, git.” Simon smiled back and looked down at his involuntarily moving hands. “It’s a long story really,” Baz added. Simon looked over, and Baz smiled again, though this time it really looked like something that was more private. Sometimes Simon would catch him staring and look away. He felt Baz had these private little moments meant for only himself. This was one of them. 

So he listened as Baz told the story. Years ago, before he was even born, Baz’s great-grandfather had inherited the throne. Originally, the throne had gone to Baz’s great uncle, King Rupert. “Until he abdicated the throne to your mum’s dad?” Simon asked. Baz nodded. The official story released to the press was that King Rupert had fallen in love with someone the Church of England had denied, but Baz said something different. 

“He wanted an out,” he mumbled, now looking at his hands. Simon didn’t know whether Baz was upset or angry or just tired, but he extended his hand to Baz’s anyway. Baz looked over through his eyelashes and smiled. “He gave the throne to my mum’s dad. His brother.” 

Simon unfortunately knew the rest of the story. Princess Natasha had been killed during a rebellion attack just a few years after Baz was born. Simon had been around five at that time, so Baz had been roughly the same ago, and Simon also knew the more troubling part: Baz had watched his mum die. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Simon whispered, and Baz squeezed his hand. Simon noticed how warm Baz’s were in comparison to his own. Baz was always warm where Simon was cold. They fit like a strange puzzle. Baz looked over then and nodded. 

After a minute or two, Baz continued. “My father has spent years keeping me out of the throne. He’s pulled every string of possible, but I’m truly of age now. You and I…we’re young, but I can’t hold this off forever. It’s basically been forever in the eyes of every citizen and every member of my mum’s inner circle. They’ve been holding out for me.” 

Simon heard what Baz wasn’t saying. “You’ll be just as great as your mother, Baz.” He could feel his cheeks heating up and a swell of tears coming behind his eyes, and he pushed them away. “She would be so proud of you,” he whispered. 

Baz nodded and rested his head on Simon’s shoulder. Simon wrapped his arm around Baz and carded his hand through Baz’s black hair that always looked effortlessly wonderful. 

…

They tried to go inconspicuously to Buckingham, but there was never a dull moment surrounding it. Rain was pouring down, and even though everything was drenched, there were both tourists and professional photographers there desperately trying to get a glimpse of any members of the royal family. The second one of them caught sight of Baz, it was like it was all over. 

Baz pulled a hood over his hair and tucked his arm around Simon’s waist, pulling him close and speeding up as a few guards crowded around them. Simon felt rushed, his feet tripping over themselves as they ascended the stairs to the front door. Someone was waiting there, and they hardly opened the door so that no one could really see inside. 

The first thought that came across Simon’s mind was ‘expensive’. There was plush carpet underneath Simon’s soaked, old, and tattered Chuck Taylor’s. He felt immensely out of place here. Everything looked to gorgeous for him to touch. He let himself be taken out of spiraling thoughts when Baz put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Coat?” he asked, and Simon nodded, shrugging off his jacket and waiting awkwardly in the entryway. There was only a guard to his right and Baz to his left, and Simon wasn’t about to make friends with the at-attention guard. Even though he was much dryer now without his soaked coat, Simon felt chillier than he had been outside. 

Once again, Baz put his arm around Simon’s waist, and Simon looked up at him with nerves clear in his eyes. Baz laughed and squeezed his hip through the button-up. “Relax,” he whispered into Simon’s ear. “They’ll love you.” 

Just as he said that, a tall woman in a champagne colored cocktail dress who Simon had seen on grainy televisions years before this moment began to walk down the long hallway before them. It was Duchess of Cambridge, Daphne Grimm. She looked so much taller in real life than Simon ever expected her to be. She was much closer to Baz’s height that his own, and he realized he should’ve been bowing when he felt Baz’s hand press into his back. Simon tried to clumsily follow but nearly tripped over. 

Simon expected to see a sneer when he came back up, but he was met by a warm smile and light eyes. The duchess hugged Baz warmly before turning to Simon. 

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Simon’s shoulders and smiling brightly. When she pulled back, she added, “Basilton has spoken so brightly about you.” 

Simon blushed and looked at his feet making the carpet darker. “I didn’t know he talked about me at all,” Simon replied, looking over at Baz through his lashes. He looked back up at the duchess and said, “It’s very nice to meet you as well…” 

“Call me Daphne in private,” she whispered with a smile. “The husband would probably like you to say Duchess. Oh!” Daphne walked to the side of the room and back very quickly with a small box, handing it to Baz and saying, “Before I forget, I retrieved what you asked for. Now, time for lunch.” She began walking back through the hallway, and Baz pressed on Simon’s back again. 

“Unfortunately,” Daphne began as they walked, “the rain has ruined the plans to sit outside and talk, but my assistant had the wonderful idea of sitting in the sun room. We can watch the weather, enjoy the warmth without the water, and talk there. Sound good?” 

“Of course,” Baz replied before Simon could. He leaned down a little to say to Simon, “My dad will tell you to call him Mr. Grimm.” Simon furrowed his brows at Baz, and Baz just shrugged with a lopsided smile. 

They turned into a sun room made of light green glass with gorgeous patio furniture. There were cups of tea on saucers at a table around a fancy food Simon didn’t recognize. Daphne led them both to one side of the table, and she took the spot opposite Simon. He internally thanked every being in the world for that. The three of them made small talk (mostly about Simon’s life) until a man entered the room. Baz and Daphne stood, and Simon followed, hitting his knee on the table. He cursed himself under his breath, and Baz looked back at him with wide eyes. Simon looked down at his feet as Baz’s dad entered the room. They only took their seats when Mr. Grimm did. 

Simon’s hand flailed for Baz’s and clasped tightly around it when he did. He was a little shaky now. Talking to the duchess was the easy part. She seemed so much more approachable than an actual heir to the throne. While Baz’s grandfather was still in power, soon he would die. After that, Baz’s father would not become King. He was not directly related to the late princess. Baz would be the next heir. 

Jesus, Simon thought to himself. What had he gotten himself into? 

“Good afternoon, father,” Baz finally said, breaking an awful silence. Baz’s thumb was smoothing over Simon’s hand in a way he assumed was supposed to be comforting. “How have you been?” 

Mr. Grimm grunted in response, taking a long sip of his tea before answering. “Why are we avoiding what you have come to talk about, Basilton? You’ve never been one to beat around the bush.” 

Simon could feel heat crawling up his neck. He didn’t know if it was embarrassment or just because the room was actually quite warm. Baz sighed beside him and replied, “I held off on introducing Simon to you until we both felt comfortable.” 

This was the first time Mr. Grimm actually looked Simon in the eye, and Simon nearly keeled over then. It was like being stared down by airport security even though he rationally knew he’d never done anything wrong. There was an unsettling urge to confess every minor wrongdoing Simon could think of. 

“It really is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Simon said. 

Mr. Grimm turned his top lip up at him. “What do you do, Simon?” he coldly asked. 

Simon swallowed thickly and replied, “I run a floral shop with my best friend Penelope, and I’m studying to get my Master’s Degree through Cambridge.”

Mr. Grimm furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “You hadn’t received it before now?” Simon bit at his lip and stayed silent. “Well, Basilton, you’ve sure got yourself a bright man.” 

Simon looked away from the table and to the outside. He could almost feel the glare that Baz was throwing at his father, and the duchess’s eyes were obviously sympathetically on him. If Simon could, he would have called a cab right then and there to go home. This afternoon tea was going worse than he thought it could have possibly gone. Every recording and broadcast he’d ever seen of Mr. Grimm had been showing him smiling and joking with others of his class. 

Maybe it was the fact that Simon was wearing Chuck Taylor’s that he didn’t like. 

“I didn’t have the opportunity to go to university right after getting out of secondary school.” The words made Simon’s tongue feel bloated. He felt himself needing to explain himself to a man he’d never met that had married into royalty. He wasn’t royal; he was juts rich. 

“So you come from a different part of the UK then?” Daphne said. Simon nodded, but he didn’t get to say a word. Baz was there to try and salvage the conversation. 

“Simon is from Lancashire,” he sighed, making his voice happier than he actually was. “He moved here to go to school, and I met him through football.” 

“You play?” Mr. Grimm asked. 

“No, I was working as a glorified ball-boy at the same club Baz went to.” Simon internally cringed. The expression that crossed Mr. Grimm’s face gave away the fact that that was the worst thing Simon could have ever said. It revealed too much about him…about whatever he came from. 

An uncomfortable silence fell over them all again. Simon didn’t trust that someone hadn’t poisoned his tea by that point and refused to drink anything. He could see Baz out of the corner of his eye flaring his nostrils in a vain attempt to stay calm. Daphne was taking nervous sips of her tea, and Mr. Grimm was glaring over at Simon. 

“Do you live off my son, Simon?” Mr. Grimm asked. 

That was Baz’s last straw, apparently. Simon was escorted out of the room by a maid or stewardess as the family blew up inside. He was shown back to the entryway and instructed that a car would be taking him alone back to the flat. Simon quickly gather his coat from the hanger and was finally led out of the awful palace under an umbrella and into the car.


	3. A Night Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT not in great detail

The flat seemed glaringly empty when Simon walked in. 

He set his drenched coat in the laundry room to the left of the door and emptily walked through the kitchen they hardly ever used. They had a cleaner come in once every two weeks to tidy things up that they never touched. It was almost as redundant as being a chimney sweeper for a lot of chimney-less homes. In fact, theirs was a chimney-less home. 

Simon’s hand danced lightly over the marble countertop of their island where they ate the majority of the food. He couldn’t even remember the last time they used the formal dining area, which was just off the side of their enormous living room. Everything there was plush and expensive and made of cloth that came from the most desired corners of the earth. 

“Are you living off my son?” 

Simon couldn’t help but have Mr. Grimm’s voice bounce through his head. Of course, the first thing he wanted to say was no; he had his own job and could support himself without a prince’s endless bank account. If Baz dropped him the next day, he could support himself from the bottom up. He’d done it for years before he’d ever met Baz at the pretentious sports club he had to work at. There was a time before Baz where money was tight, but Simon did it. 

There was a tight feeling coiling itself around Simon’s chest. It was crawling through his throat and forced itself out in an ugly noise. Simon clasped a hand over his mouth before he remembered that no one was home. There was no reason to guard himself so tightly in the place he lived. 

Could it even be considered his home if Baz had refused to let him pay even a small portion of the bills? He definitely lived here. He had his own office up the stairs and to the right. He had his own computer and bookcases and shitty romance novels. He had his own collection of video games and the same gaming console he’d had since he was nineteen. It was the first large purchase completely for fun he had made in his undergrad years. It was one of the only things he’d kept that he’d had before he moved in with Baz. 

There were so many distinct periods in Simon’s life. He could probably map them out like a smaller version of the geological time scale with every part filled until now. There was the Orphanage Era, with many different and dingy homes filled with an aura of sadness separating themselves into periods. Next was definitely a much smaller time frame: Familial Era. This one had two periods: pre-leaving and post-leaving of his father, a most respected man who couldn’t be bothered with a child while he was off making political ties for himself. 

And then…then there was the Baz Era. Pre-Baz was easiest to remember. Those were the months of living off of ramen noodles and Indian takeaway in his and Penny’s shared flat in a shithole complex with a terrifying landlady and more than a few crazy neighbors. Then there was the smidge at the vey end of post-Baz where Simon got the job at the club. He nearly went broke for that fucking awful place. Ven now, Simon could recall the dropping feeling in his stomach as he made the decision to suck it up and take the job, even if it meant paying a ridiculous fee. The first week’s pay would cover it. 

The Baz Era was still happening. Now, it was Post-Baz, or at least Post-Meeting-Baz. There were fancy dates and suits and expensive wine bottles all handed on a silver platter to Simon, and he’d honestly not known how to deal with it the first time around. He’d needed to run to the loo and frantically call Penny for advice (to which she’d actually laughed at loud for minutes, and only after she’d calmed down did she actually give proper advice). 

And then Baz revealed he was a prince which had sounded like a real-life email scam read off to Simon in Baz’s old apartment, and Simon had laughed and made fun of Baz and told him that he’d never fall for a joke like that. And then it was true. And now he was here, in a too-big apartment with a too-big bed and a too-big anxious ball of something lurking in the back of his mind. It was always there making its little noises of doubt and protest, and Simon did his best to ignore it. 

But now…it was starting to seem truer than the truth. 

Simon walked up the lavish staircase that had no safety railing up to their bedroom. The bed was empty, and the air was cold. A draft that had no purpose being there swept over him and through the room. There was no life here. This place was cold and dead like the other unused rooms of the flat. There were too many to count, really. 

Simon pulled his small duffel bag with pen marks and unintelligible Sharpie writing on it from the closet. He went to his small section where there were graphic tees and old jeans hanging. Baz’s clothes were mostly suits and nice button-ups, and he had only a few pairs of jeans and old shirts. Even then, they were much nicer than Simon’s. That’s just how it usually went. 

He slowly packed a pair of underwear, some shirts, and two pairs of jeans. If he had been thinking, Simon might’ve packed some socks or a comb or something, but he just walked into the bathroom and pulled his toothbrush and medication from the countertop. The clanking of the small pills in the bottle was the only indication life was inside this place. Simon couldn’t even hear his own breathing or footsteps over the sound of the anxious ball speaking to him. 

Simon zipped up the camo green bag and felt its weight in his hands. It was so fucking light. There should’ve been more things he was itching to pack, but it made him realize that this place was clearly not his. There was no mark of him other than his small wardrobe, toothpaste stains, and occasional pictures in frames that were scattered. His office was hardly filled. Besides his freaking PlayStation, everything there had been handed to him. 

He walked down the stairs and found the notepad that both he and Baz used to make shopping lists, and he wrote a small paragraph explaining he was going to Penny’s, that Baz shouldn’t worry, and he’d call him sometime this week. Tentatively, he also wrote that Baz should not come find him. He needed space, and while the flat certainly provided a lot of that, it was more of the kind of space that required a few streets and buildings and people in between it. And Simon hadn’t realized it before, but he was crying. If this felt like the right thing to do, why did it hurt so fucking much? 

He closed the flat door behind him and rang a cab.

…

Penny was less than enthusiastic about this. 

Simon had explained to her everything that had happened the day before: Baz’s excitement, his own nerves, and the treatment he’d gotten from both the duchess and duke. And then she’d hit him over the head with a spare magazine. 

“What the hell, Penny?” Simon asked, his voice shrill. A low throb was sounding off behind his head, and he realized magazines shouldn’t hurt that much. 

“You’re a twat, Simon Snow,” she replied, placing her magazine down by her side. Of course, it was one Micah had written in. He was on the front cover in a stylish suit; Simon wanted to ask about that, but something told him now was not the time. “You really left after one day interacting with his parents? I mean,” she stood up and walked into her kitchen where a small window let Simon see her, “it’s not like they’re the final say in what happens between the two of you anyways.” 

Simon touched the throbbing spot on his head and said, “It was like being back at that club, except this time, Baz’ father had a true vendetta for me.” 

“Look, Simon, you know I’m not gonna sit here and say that job was the best thing that ever happened to you or anything,” she yelled over the screech of the kettle on the stove, “and I’m also not gonna say that what the duke did was fine either.” 

She walked back into the sitting room a few minutes later with two steaming cups of tea in her hands. As she sat down, Simon asked, “Then what are you going to say?” 

Penny took a long sip of her tea, seeming to think over the question before she answered. “I’m going to say that Baz is a good man and that he’s been very good for you. I’m also going to say that your feelings towards his father are legitimate, but associating those feelings with Baz also is fucking moronic.” 

Simon choked on his tea and spat it out in harsh coughs. Penny just sat on her couch and sipped her own tea, waiting for him to stop so she could continue. “Sins of the father, Simon,” was all the explanation she gave. “Sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m making you go and explain yourself tomorrow.” 

“I left a note,” Simon mumbled into the couch cushion as Penny threw a fluffy blanket that was perfect-sized for her but too small for him. She purposely aimed the pillow at his head, and Simon could hear her laughing to herself as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom. He put the pillow behind his head and arranged himself so that he was curled on his side and protected by the blanket. As Simon tried to figure out how he could possibly make this up to Baz in the morning he fell asleep.   
Damn chamomile tea. 

…

It felt weird to be knocking on the door to the placed he’d lived for a few years, but it also felt weirder to try and walk in like nothing had happened. Simon had his duffel in his right hand, head hanging as he heard the door open. He was faced with Baz’s cute little bunny slippers where the ears were flopping down nearly into the eyes of the fake animal. It was late at night, and this made it obvious to Simon that Baz had been preparing for bed. 

He saw the little slippers move to the side, and (taking that as an invitation to step inside) Simon walked into the flat and turned around, feeling like a child about to be scolded. He’d been in that situation enough times to know what it felt like, but this guilt he felt was much more intense than anything. He’d hit a girl when he was five or so in an orphanage, and even then, this was so much worse. Simon had let down a person he genuinely cared about. 

There was an awkward silence between them before Baz finally said, “A note? That’s how you were planning on leaving me?” Simon didn’t try to protest. He had no right to speak. “You didn’t even want me to come fight for you.” 

The break let Simon get a word in. “I wasn’t leaving you.” 

“Really?” Baz demanded, stomping over to the kitchen island and then coming back with the note in his hand. Simon finally turned his head up, expecting an angry Baz but instead seeing someone virtually broken, and he had done that. “You call this not leaving me? You didn’t call, you didn’t say anything, and you certainly didn’t warn me!!” His voice was shrill and watery, and Simon felt like every little word was a tiny nick at his heart. “Have you got anything to say?” Baz asked. 

“Yes,” Simon replied defiantly. “You have no idea what it’s like to face a room of people who automatically hate you! You’ve never had to look people in the face, knowing you’re less than them, knowing you’ll never matter to them, and knowing that no matter what you do or say they will find a way to hate you! I come from nothing!” he yelled, his voice filling the empty space around them and echoing back. 

Simon was furious. He stomped away from the kitchen and up the stairs, making sure that each of his steps echoed around him. He could hear Baz walking behind him, but he still slammed the bedroom door shut and threw his duffel at the wall, screaming angrily. He felt like a total teenager in his range, and he wasn’t even sure why he was so angry. Simon lifted a hand to his cheek and realized he was crying. Fuck, he thought. How was he supposed to stay mad if he couldn’t even keep himself together? 

The door opened behind him, and Simon turned to see Baz in his fucking robe and bunny slippers, and this felt like the first fight they’d ever had: Simon was crying, Baz was balling his fists at his sides, and the room was charged with electricity. Simon desperately wanted to reach out and kiss Baz, but his fiancé beat him to it. 

This also felt like the first fight they’d ever had. It always ended in sex. It could be angry sex or sappy sex or emotional sex or all three, and Simon wasn’t complaining in the slightest. 

It was easy to push Baz’s robe off, and then it was Simon’s turn to be naked. And this was the part that always went slow because Simon was always shy and tried to cover himself, but then Baz would kiss his neck and collarbones and every fucking mole on his body. It was the type of care and adoration like this that made Simon cry harder. And Baz kissed his tears away then. 

“You can’t leave me, Simon Snow,” Baz whispered in his ear, and Simon nodded. One hand was threaded in Baz’s hair, and Baz was hovering above him. They were both naked now, and the warmth of Baz’s skin against the chill of his own reminded Simon how much he loved this…how much he loved Baz. 

“I won’t,” Simon whispered back minutes later when his brain decided to work again. Feeling Baz thrust his fingers inside his body always made him sluggish. It was all Simon could do to make his lips form around the words and push the sound out. Besides that, there were just little breathy moans and whimpers when Baz’s finger would brush against his prostate. It was always slow in this stage. Baz treated him well and never did anything without permission. 

As Baz put a condom on and leaned over Simon, pressing the head of his prick right against Simon, Baz asked permission, and Simon melted, collecting Baz in his arms and pressing his face into the crook of Baz’s neck. Baz begin to slowly thrust, hearing the punched-out moans right in his ear. Simon could feel his nails digging tracks into Baz’s back.  
A tight heat was coiling itself in the bottom of Simon’s belly just minutes in, and it truly reminded himself of how long it had been since they’d properly had time to fuck. As Baz was thrusting harder inside him, Simon was crying again, holding Baz’s back and keeping his legs wrapped around Baz’s waist. Simon could feel the muscles contrasting in Baz’s lower back as he got closer, and Simon came first, crying out into Baz’s shoulder. 

When the room calmed down, Simon was able to stop crying, though he was still trying to get a handle on his breathing. His bottom lip was still being sucked into his mouth as he breathed, and when he finally did calm down completely, Simon tentatively curled himself up into Baz’s side, and Baz wrapped both arms around him.


	4. The Conclusion

The ache in Simon was palpable the next morning. 

He awoke with his bare legs twisted in the sheets and a sheen of sweat from the previous night covering his whole body. An arm was slung around his waist, and Simon sighed tiredly as he sagged back into the embrace, the memories of last night replaying in his head. He slowly clasped his hand around Baz’s and felt the warm fingers grasp his own. Simon listened for any telltale signs that Baz was going to wake up, but Baz just made a noise close to a snore and rested his head against the space between Simon’s shoulder blades. 

The ache wasn’t physical. The weight of Baz’s hand against his waist and head resting on his shoulders made Simon feel like he’d done something so wrong by leaving. He loved the feeling of warm hands and small puffs of breath against his neck. He loved the way Baz would curl in closer to him and wrap him up in a hug subconsciously. Leaving had been the actual coward’s way out, and the fact that Simon couldn’t handle the berating from his fiancé’s father terrified him. Baz was supposed to take the throne soon, and Simon logically knew more than one person would be pissed about a commoner joining him. 

“Stop that,” Baz mumbled into his back. Simon froze a little bit, and he then realized what Baz was talking about: his whole body had gone tense. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop it,” Baz added, moving his hands to massage the muscles under his fingers until Simon went lax. 

Simon huffed and turned so that he was now facing Baz, and he immediately forgot what he’d wanted to say. Baz always looked so beautiful in the mornings with the soft light of the sun catching on his sharp features and his hair mussed up beyond a point of natural return. It was these little details that made Simon go breathless; Baz grinned at him. 

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” Simon finally supplied, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in. He felt the bed shake with silent laughter and opened his eyes to see an even wider and dopier grin on Baz’s face. However, in his eyes Simon saw the flicker of doubt and worry flash. It made his stomach sink. Of course, he deserved it. He’d practically abandoned Baz at one of the first big troubles in paradise. All he’d done was left a fucking note saying not to find him or call him and…

“You’re doing it again,” Baz said, tucking a stray lock of golden hair behind Simon’s freckled ear. “Tell me,” he added in a whisper. It was those words in the hushed tone that revealed what Baz was really feeling: fear. 

Simon gulped audibly and tried to form a coherent thought. He couldn’t lay down his guilt because then Baz would make a bullshit excuse about it really being his fault and not Simon’s at all. That was wrong. It was all Simon’s fault.

“I’m just sorry,” Simon finally said. His hands had fisted themselves in the pillow beneath his head. “I should’ve stayed and talked it out with you. Penny was right about ho idiotic it was.” 

Baz nodded and stayed silent. There were so many more things that Simon wanted to confess. He was afraid Baz would not want him when the public found out. He was afraid Mr. Grimm would convince his son otherwise in terms of marriage. He was afraid that Baz would leave him. Almost every person before Baz had left besides Penny. 

Baz rolled from his side to his back and sighed. “We have a lot to talk about before a wedding,” he muttered with a laugh. Simon laughed in spite of the situation as well. Of course they had a lot to talk about. When had they never had issues to work out? “But my father isn’t one of them.” 

“How can it not be?” Simon asked. “He hates me. He thinks I live off of you, and I kind of do and I kind of will. How am I supposed to hold a normal job after a royal wedding?”

“You’re not,” Baz laughed. “You get married, have a honeymoon, and then start your diplomatic duties the second it’s over.” Simon felt Baz’s warm hand take his from under the pillow. Simon’s ring was cold in contrast and soon warmed up under the touch. “I still want this if you do.” Baz finally looked over at Simon, and Simon saw how his hair fell from his forehead to his cheek. 

“I want you,” Simon said. 

…

It wasn’t an easy road to the wedding. 

Mr. Grimm had been sent an invitation, and when no RSVP had been made, both Baz and Simon deduced he wasn’t coming. Daphne had called a month before to say she herself would love to attend alone, and of course they had welcomed her. Simon really liked her, and she seemed much more accepting than Mr. Grimm. 

Penny made the flower arrangements with Baz. They had both tried to include Simon at one point, but he really didn’t understand how posh royal weddings were supposed to be, and when he suggested daisies, he’d been politely asked not to attend the next consultation. He didn’t mind, though. The flower stuff bored him just a bit. Even though both he and Penny ran the shop, she crafted much of what was seen, and Simon just helped with inventory and finances. 

Baz and Simon…they were better. They’d had a long, LONG discussion the morning after Simon had come back, which involved profuse amounts of crying and kissing. 

And it had all led up to this. 

Simon arranged and then rearranged his cufflinks when a soft knock came from the door. He turned to see Penny in all her glory: beautiful purple hair and black glasses, a perfectly tailored dress that Baz had recommended, and a small bouquet of flowers in her hands. Simon knew those were meant for him; she wasn’t the one walking down the aisle. 

She walked across he small room in the manor they had spent the night in. Baz had stayed in a separate building as per tradition, and Simon and Penny had had plenty of time to chat with one another about the next day. Penny tugged Simon’s wrists away from him and pulled on the cufflinks. 

“If you keep pulling antiques,” she chastised, “you’ll destroy them.” She finally pinned them in place and looked him in the eye. “I’m sure Duchess Daphne would not like Pitch heirlooms to be destroyed.” 

The cufflinks had been what Baz had picked up that day so long ago in the palace. Simon hadn’t really questioned the box at first, and he had again cried when Baz took it out and told him the story of his mother’s father’s cufflinks he’d worn on his coronation. They’d been passed on even before Baz’s grandfather had them and now…now they were Simon’s. He’d been gifted yet another Pitch antique that meant so much to Baz. 

Penny dusted away nothing in particular on Simon’s shoulders and sighed. She wiped away at the corner of her eyes, and Simon quickly said, “Penny, don’t cry!”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, still wiping her cheeks. “I’m just so happy for you and Baz. I phoned him before I came in here, and believe me, he’s just as emotional as me.” 

Simon felt a swell of tears in his own eyes, and he shook his head to try and clear them. He then sniffled and said, “I promise to send you pictures from Florence.” 

She lightly punched his shoulder and said, “You better!” It was then that Simon realized so much was going to change. There would be no more waking up early to go to the floral shop or inventory days that went long into the night. However, Simon knew Penny had found a good business partner in her boyfriend Micah’s sister. She had recently moved over for university and was looking for a bit of cash, so it had really been perfect timing. 

“You’re gonna have to update me on the store constantly,” Simon whispered. He balanced his chin on the top of Penny’s head. She had really always been the perfect height for Simon to rest upon. “And we’re gonna have to have so many more sleepovers.” 

“A sleepover in the palace,” she fake-gushed, wrapping her arms around Simon’s center. “How could I say no to a future Duke?” 

Before they could say really anything else, the sound of another knock on the door sounded. Simon told whoever it was to come in, and he was greeted by a bodyguard he had briefly met a few months after the engagement when they had gone public. Baz had told Simon a group of bodyguards was vital to his public outings. There wasn’t anything Simon could do about it either. The second time he’d gone into public after the official announcement had been released by the royal press, paparazzi had swarmed them. 

It was quite unfortunate that Simon had been in a graphic shirt and denims. 

“Is it already time, Laurent?” Simon asked, checking the wall clock nervously. Before Laurent responded, the clock confirmed the need for Simon’s nerves: the time for the ride to Westminster Abbey had arrived. Simon felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs, and he only vaguely heard Penny saying something to Laurent before she put her hands on either side of Simon’s face. 

“You ready?” she asked, a watery smile playing on her features. 

“Of course.” 

…

Simon hadn’t honestly expected to have his breath taking away at the sight of Baz, but here he was. Baz was dressed in his military uniforms, and Simon felt his breath leave his body as he began walking towards Baz. He saw a few faces he recognized and a few he didn’t. Penny was at the very front where Simon would be able to see her, and he also knew that Daphne would be there as well. 

Simon felt his step falter, and the entire hall gasped before Simon got back on his feet and laughed quietly at himself. To steady himself for the rest of the walk, he remained looking at Baz for the rest of the walk. He saw Baz subtly wipe at his eyes, and Simon blinked tears away. Jesus, why was he so emotional? 

And the rest of the ceremony was fast. Standing and sitting next to Baz and making vows and smiling with tears in his eyes created the best feelings Simon had ever experienced. Hearing the crowd cheer as they were pronounced married made him tear up. Hearing the bystanders outside cheer when they first kissed as husbands outside made him actually cry. 

On the flight to Florence much later that day, Simon squeezed Baz’s hand in his. The start of the rest of his life seemed to be going pretty alright, all things considered.


End file.
